


vagary

by pageofwands (eorumverba)



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-16 06:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eorumverba/pseuds/pageofwands
Summary: "Your journey will be long, and you will not rest until it ends.” - in which asra finds julian, again and again





	1. 01 - the fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asra listens for the magic, but it has gone, and they are at a loss. So they tell the truth. "Something called me here, and I followed it to you."

Asra is tugged from a restless sleep by something urgent, a pull of magic that hums intense in the back of their mind. The magic is both familiar and alien all at once, not unlike the call of the Magician’s magic - but where theirs is seductive and intimate, this magic is reserved, almost vexed . _Follow me,_ it seems to whisper, and that is all. Asra feels the magic pluck around in all the corners of their mind, and they let it until it withdraws, apparently satisfied with what it has found. The magic refuses to speak any longer, but it guides Asra through the city, ever familiar even in the midnight darkness. And where the magic guides him is a place that Asra is well acquainted with.

Asra takes the spare key from its place around their neck and unlocks the door. There is no one there, but then, there never usually is, not since the Plague started. But it's familiar, almost home, and Asra makes their way up the stairs and into Julian's bedroom, settling easily into his unmade bed with a soft sigh. They have no idea why the magic guided them here of all places, especially after _everything_ , but if Asra knows anything, it is to always listen to the magic when it calls.

Julian doesn't come in until it's later than late, and if he is surprised to see Asra sitting on his bed like they belong there, he doesn't show it. "Asra, dear, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Asra listens for the magic, but it has gone, and they are at a loss. So they tell the truth. "Something called me here, and I followed it to you."

"What, something...magical?" Julian looks guarded, almost endearingly so, and Asra tries to smile gently at him.

"I _am_ a magician, Ilya."

"Well." And Julian is at a loss for words for once - he stands there staring at Asra, that ever-present open honesty reflected in his exposed eye, written all over his face.

And then, Asra feels it. A ripple of pain coming from Julian, less physical and more emotional. When they concentrate, Asra realizes that the pain is one they have felt far too much recently, that the pain is spreading throughout Julian's body. The Plague.

"Oh, Ilya," Asra sighs, because everything makes _sense_ now - Julian staying in his underground office all day and all night, the new eyepatch covering his eye, the tension ever-present in his body, the death written in the harsh lines of his face. "Ilya, were you ever going to tell me?"

Julian's breath audibly hitches at Asra's words, and he watches them warily as they stand and come closer. He tenses, suspicion in his uncovered eye when Asra touches him gentle, soft - just their hands against his cheeks, tracing the shadows beneath his eye, the harsh lines of his cheekbones, the plush curve of his lips. But just as quick as it had come, the tension bleeds from his body and he slumps into them, all dead weight.

"How did you know?"

The question is useless, they both know. It doesn't matter how Asra knows, just as it doesn't matter how Julian got it. All that matters now is that Julian is going to die. When he pulls back, his smile is soft, but it's sad, bitter. "Never mind, darling. We should just make the most of it while we have the time, shouldn't we?” The way Julian says it makes it a clear innuendo, but the sadness in his smile tells the truth.

“Ilya, I can’t have you…” The word _die_ is caught in Asra’s throat, and they swallow it down. Maybe if they don’t say it, it won’t come true.

“I won’t - I have a plan, Asra dear.”

Knowing Julian, it will be a stupid plan, but Asra nods and disentangles themself from Julian’s grip even as the magic in the air protests. “I’m leaving Vesuvia, Ilya. Tomorrow, maybe, I don’t know when. I don’t know where I’ll go either, just...away from here. This city, this plague. And…” the question is left unasked, but Asra knows that Julian knows.

“I can’t - won’t. Sick as I may be, I still have a duty to this city. I’m still a doctor, darling. ”

“And a fool,” Asra whispers. The magic is tugging at their heart now, and as much as it pains them, physically now, they have to go. “I’ll miss that about you, Ilya.”

“Ah, no. You’ll be sick of me when you come back. And I’ll spend the rest of our days annoying you, making you roll your beautiful eyes, kissing the exasperated smile from your gorgeous lips.” And throughout all of that, all that beats through Asra’s mind like a pulse is that Julian had said _our._

“Do you mean that, Ilya?”

The roguish grin drops from Julian’s face and he nods, taking both of Asra’s cheeks in his gloves hands. “I swear it, Asra. Why, by the time you come back, my wandering little magician, the plague shall be cured. And by my hands, at that.”

“And when I come back, we…” Asra stops. They dare not give themself - no, Julian - the hope that this relationship will be more, that they will be okay, that Julian will even be alive.

And maybe Julian understands that, because he leans down, slow enough to give Asra time to pull away (they do not) before he kisses them, soft and gentle. The kiss is full of all the emotion that neither of them dare to give voice to, and Asra lets themself drown in it, clinging to Julian like the only thing keeping them grounded is the warmth of his body and the press of his lips. Julian’s lips taste of unresolved feelings and tears, and Asra knows that it’s a goodbye even if neither of them say so.

And in the morning, as Julian lies still asleep, Asra slips out of bed, dresses quietly, and leaves without looking back.


	2. 02 - the magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My favorite little witch,” the Magician coos, one sharp nail tapping against Asra’s cheek in an almost-affectionate gesture. “Back again so soon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so like Mild tw for (mentioned) character death But Like it's a reincarnation au so ,

Time passes strangely in the different realms, and Asra takes their time exploring them. They spend several months with the Magician, much to the their delight, and when Asra leaves, they find that only a few weeks have passed in the human world. In some realms, time passes slow like syrup, in others, time glides through their fingers like a fast-flowing stream, and in others still, time seems to stand still. The memory of Vesuvia stands prominent wherever Asra goes though - it is there in the cool of Julian’s house key against their chest, it is there in the warmth of thoughts of stolen kisses, and it is there in the dull ache in their heart from how much they miss Julian.

There are many times that they almost, almost go back. The only thing that stops them is the thought of revisiting so many of their failures. They don’t know how much time has passed in the human realm, though it must be longer than they’d thought, because by the time Asra’s roaming brings them back to the Magician’s realm, they look vaguely surprised, or as surprised as one of the Arcana can be.

“My favorite little witch,” the Magician coos, one sharp nail tapping against Asra’s cheek in an almost-affectionate gesture. “Back again so soon?”

Asra shakes their head, a fond little smile tugging up the corners of their lips unbidden. Like usual, the Magician’s dwelling has taken the form of the Palace library, and the Magician settles at the desk that should be Julian’s, a knowing little smile on their lips. They’ve taken their favorite form - Asra’s - though by now, Asra is no longer shocked to see their own features reflected back at them on someone else. “Here to practice your magic again, little one?”

And that’s not really why Asra came, but they know the rules. If they’re here, it’s for a reason. Whatever it is though, Asra knows they’ll figure it out - so they sit down on the floor at the Magician’s feet, a position they’ve taken many times in their life. “Teach me,” they say, and the Magician gives them a secret smile before reaching out to pet a hand through their hair. It’s less a gesture of affection and more a show of  _ possession,  _ but Asra finds that they don’t quite mind that.

“Anything, my favorite protege.”

Asra does not know what they want, and if the Magician knows, they do not say. All they do is tap the desk with one too-sharp nail and reach out with their other hand for Asra to take. “Start with your cards, little one.”

And Asra does.

It goes like that for a while - the Magician suggesting ( _ commanding _ ) and Asra obeying ( _ submitting _ ), pushing the limits of their magic and mind and body at the Magician’s every whim. The Magician knows every facet of their being intimately, knows them perhaps even better than Asra knows themself, and Asra thinks the Magician likes it like that.

Time, as most things, fade away the longer they stay, and it feels like only a day has passed before the Magician looks at them with a strangely unreadable expression on their face. They're wearing their fox-headed form, and the way they tilt their head to look beyond and through Asra is some odd mix of unnerving and endearing.

"Do you have any regrets, my little witch?"

It's a strange question, especially since the Magician is the one that asked it, but as usual, with them, Asra answers honestly.

"I have many. I regret not being able to save..." here, Asra pauses, takes a breath. "I regret not being able to protect the ones I loved. I regret not giving Julian what we both wanted."

"Is that so," the Magician says, and that is all. And Asra wants to ask, but they cannot find the voice to do so. “You’re always so interesting, little apprentice.”

And _ that,  _ that is entirely on purpose. The word - no, the title, and it’s  _ meaning _ \- stings, and although Asra is sure their discomfort must show, all the Magician does is laugh. And Asra realizes once again that though this is the person (if they can be called that) that raised them from childhood, they do not feel the same things as humans do.

And that is- "I need to go." Asra stands, suppressing a shudder at the sudden crawl of magic under their skin. They know it’s just the Magician's way of trying to get them to stay, and at any other time, Asra would let themself give into the pull and temptation, but this isn't what they need. They need to feel human again, they need skin on skin contact, they need to feel needed.

They need Julian.

"Already, little apprentice?" And that's just  _ cruel _ , from the mocking smile on that familiar face, to the word and everything it means.

And there is so much that Asra wants to say, but they know how the Magician works, knows how much they love their mind games. So they swallow all of the feeling bubbling up inside them, and then they say, "Goodbye."

Coming back to Vesuvia, to normalcy, feels - odd. They’re used to the whispers and stares following them around, used to catching up on lost time, but this time is  _ different.  _ There are more unfamiliar faces than not, and Vesuvia as a whole feels sicker. And that, Asra quickly learns, is because of how quickly the Plague had spread during the two years that they had been gone.

Without the pure, undiluted magic of the Arcana realm overloading their every sense, Asra feels strangely vulnerable, raw in a way they hadn’t felt in - apparently - over two years. It’s not unlike the way Julian makes them feel, and that - that is what Asra needs.

So they check all of their usual places - the bar, Julian’s little hole in the wall of a house, even their secret place down by the docks. And there is no Julian there, but Asra had expected that. With all of the sickness running rampant, and knowing how Julian is, Asra knows where he’ll be, knows that they’ll likely have to drag him from either the library or his little office, knows that they’ll have to account for their disappearance somehow. But none of that matters: all they need is Julian’s warmth and firmness, his gentleness and softness.

Except - the library is cold and empty.

Except - the writings on his desk are old and outdated.

Except - they can’t feel even a single trace of Julian anywhere.

Even before the Countess can even tell them, Asra knows that they will never see Julian again. (“He’s dead,” the Countess says, a vague sort of regret on her face. Not everyone knew about their sort-of relationship, but Nadia has always been more astute than most, and Asra knows that she knew. But that is not nearly as important as- “He died not too long ago. It...he didn’t want you to be sad. He wanted you to smile at the thought of him.”

And that is so like Julian, to think of everyone but himself even in his own death. To tell Asra to smile (even though he won’t be there to kiss it from their lips) and to be happy (even without him). The words and emotions wash over them like a wave of ice water, and it is all they can do to give the Countess a polite farewell.

It feels like there is a hole in Asra’s heart, and the numbness only grows with each passing day, with every reminder of Julian no matter how simple. Julian has wormed his way inside every crevice of their life - of their very being - and his absence is felt all too much. It feels like Julian has taken the sun and all its warmth and light with him, and Asra spends their days fumbling through the dark, wading through a sluggish stream. There are no heavy hands to hold them gentle, no piercing gaze to trace their every movement, no low voice with an innuendo or distraction or a playful taunt at the ready. With Julian gone, Asra feels... _ nothing _ , and they think that if _ this _ is love, they want no part of it.

And then they get the idea.

Without Julian, there is nothing to keep them in this realm anymore, and the Magician is waiting for them. “Asra, dear, to what do I owe the pleasure?” they ask, and it hurts. It’s Julian’s face, and Julian’s words, but that is not his smile, and that is not his voice.

“I want Julian back. I’ll do anything, I just - I need to go back, change things. You can do that, I know you cnan.”

The Magician laughs, an edge of viciousness set on their features that does not sit well on Julian’s face. “So tell me, my little magician, what is so special about this human that you would be willing to make such a drastic deal?”

And there are so many things that Asra could say. They sense that to tell the truth to the Magician - how important Julian is to them - would not bode well, but in all the time spent together, Asra has never managed to outwit the Magician.

“Your silence speaks volumes, little one. And don’t lie - who was the one that taught you how to do that?” The Magician’s form ripples like water, and when Asra blinks, they see their own reflection staring back at them. “Look at you,” the Magician croons, reaching out to skim cool fingers against Asra’s cheeks, nose, lips. “My little plaything. My apprentice.”

Asra flinches back, almost involuntarily, but the Magician does not seem to mind. In fact, they just laugh, face twisted into an ugly sneer. “I will grant you your wish, as foolish at is it is. Though...I will take the liberty to add my own terms, of course.” All at once, the displeasure fades from the Magician’s face, and they smile, almost fondly at Asra. “Sleep now, little witchling. Your journey will be long, and you will not rest until it ends.”

A chill runs down the length of Asra’s body like a torrent of ice water, and they realize two things at once, much too late. The Magician’s last words were a clear prophecy, and that means that they’ve messed up.

Before they can even open their mouth to demand to know the Magician’s terms of the deal - and to add their own in protection - they feel themself begin to fall, and fall, and fall. The last thing Asra is aware of before they slip completely under the surface of their own mind is that the Magician is laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> updates every friday !


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